


Subordinate Clauses

by merentha13



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 07:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2804618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merentha13/pseuds/merentha13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Christmas Eve obbo</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subordinate Clauses

Raindrops danced on the bonnet of the car and chased each other in meandering lines down the windscreen. It was the most action they’d seen on this obbo in the last three hours. Doyle balanced his beaker of tea on one knee and sighed disconsolately. 

“I’ve had a thought,” Bodie announced cheerfully.

“Well, it is the season for miracles,” Doyle replied.

“Ha-bloody-ha. A real comedian, you are.”

“C’mon, then.” Doyle nodded encouragingly. “Let’s have this astounding thought.”

“Got any plans for Christmas?”

“No. Was supposed to visit me Mum, but Cowley put a quick end to that.”

“Thought we could share a meal once we’re relieved. Stop at mine?

“You got food in?

Bodie looked away.

“Thought so,” Doyle sighed.”S ‘all right. We can make a quick stop at Sainsbury’s. I’ll cook.”

“Show me your ornaments?” Bodie leered. “The lovely Julia told me that your balls were hanging low.”

Doyle groaned.

The tapping on the windows grew sharper, the rain turning to sleet. A thin ridge of ice built up along the edges of the windows, making the air inside the car colder. Doyle tightened the scarf around his neck.

Bodie poured some tea from the thermos and took a sip as he settled deeper into the driver’s seat. He pulled the R/T from his pocket and spoke quickly.

“Father Christmas here. All right me little dwarves – report in.”

Doyle spit tea onto the windscreen.

“What?” Bodie asked, puzzled.

“Dwarves? Father Christmas doesn’t have dwarves!”

“Sure he does, there’s Sleepy and Dopey and...” Bodie looked critically at the man in the passenger seat. “There’s Grumpy. That’d be you, Doyle.”

Ignoring the sarcasm, Doyle announced, “That’s Snow White.”

“Eh?”

“The dwarves – Snow White.”

Bodie considered that for a moment. “Yeah, it is.”

“What?”

“Snow’s white.”

“ELVES!” A loud voice came across the R/T, startling them both. Murphy explained, “Father Christmas, er, Santa Claus, has elves!”

“I bet there’s a medicine would clear that up for him.” Doyle smothered a giggle.

“No, you moron.” Murphy sighed with exasperation. “Santa Claus’ helpers are elves.”

“Elves?”

“Yeah, elves. Not dwarves.”

“Ok then, elves, report in!” Bodie ordered.

“Sneezy’s got nothing to report.” Murphy replied, defeated.

“Mrs Claus here. No activity.” Susan answered. They could hear the smile in her voice.

“No hooves clattering on the rooftops,” Anson chimed in.

“Ok. Stay alert. Remember we’re here looking for Santa’s naughty girls and boys.” Bodie dropped the R/T on the dashboard. He softly hummed “Santa Claus is Coming to Town” while the rain and sleet continued to drum against the roof of the car.

“That’s why ol’ Mr Claus doesn’t have any children,” Doyle offered absently.

“Eh?” Bodie looked over at his partner.

“Explains why he doesn’t have any kids of his own, doesn’t it?”

Puzzled, Bodie asked grudgingly, “Do tell. Why doesn’t Santa have any children?”

“He only comes once a year – and when he does, it’s down the chimney.” Doyle sniggered.

“My God, Doyle. That’s horrible!” Susan’s voice over the R/T startled both men. Bodie grinned sheepishly and picked up the R/T he had inadvertently left open.

“Suppose you can do better, love?” he teased.

“Of course I can.” Susan’s voice sounded amused. “Which is harder to make? A snowman or a snowwoman?”

Bodie and Doyle rolled their eyes.

“Go ahead, Susie, dear. Amaze us,” Bodie prompted.

“A snowwoman is easier to make, of course. With a snowman you have to hollow out the head and pack all that extra snow into its balls.”

“Oi! I resent that remark,” Anson protested, garnering a laugh from all the other agents.

An irritated voice broke through the mirth. “I’m guessing that I haven’t made it clear enough just how important it is that we catch Mr Collins and his gang tonight, _before_ they have a chance to plant their bombs?” The Scottish brogue was more pronounced than normal.

Bodie and Doyle reflexively straightened in their seats.

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, we understand the importance - sir.” Bodie assured his boss.

“See that you do.” Cowley admonished. “I’ll be with the Minister at the reception for the PM. Call me as soon as you know something. Cowley out.”

Bodie took a deep breath. “That voice makes me North Pole shiver.”

“Bodie!” Cowley yelled.

Doyle grabbed the R/T and turned it off, giving his partner a disgusted look. “You really ought to learn how to use these things.”

The R/T buzzed and Doyle thumbed it open again. “4.5.”

Anson’s voice filled the Capri. “Did you hear that? Father is off to the PM’s Christmas party whilst we freeze our goolies off waiting for the mad bomber to make his move.”

“Ah, but that’s our role in life isn’t? He’s Father Christmas and we’re but subordinate clauses.”

“Very droll, Doyle. I think-”

“Collins just came out of the flat. There are three helpers with him. They’re heading for his car.” Susan interrupted. “So warm up your goolies and get moving boys.”

They sat silently watching Collins and his mates load several brightly wrapped boxes into the back of a Land Rover.

“Suspicious looking packages,” Bodie commented into the R/T.

“Nah,” Doyle disagreed. “Christmas bombs should always come wrapped in bows and ribbons.”

Collins closed up the hatch and ushered his accomplices into the vehicle. He pulled slowly away from the kerb and cautiously entered the flow of traffic.

“Careful driver, our boy, yeah?” Bodie commented as he took advantage of a break in the line of cars.

“Doesn’t want to blow himself up now does he?” Doyle picked up the R/T. “Murph, run parallel to us one street over. We’ll switch places to keep ‘em guessing. Susan, stay a few cars behind us and we’ll trade off as well. Don’t want to spook the lad.”

Keeping Collins in sight became a challenge. Cold rain hitting the warmer ground created a layer of fog which swallowed the light from their headlamps. The wipers swished in a hard rhythm to clear the sleet from the windscreen. Fortunately traffic moved very slowly.

They had been driving for about thirty minutes when Collins pulled into a multi-story car park. Bodie drove past the structure and parked on the street around the corner from the entrance. They got out of the Capri and took shelter under the awning of a closed chemist’s.

It was cold. An icy wind laden with sleet swirled around them. Doyle shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat and shivered while they waited for the rest of the team to congregate.

“Should try wearing a real coat,” Bodie tugged at the back of Doyle’s jacket and patted his partner’s inadequately covered arse. “Need to keep the good bits warm.”

“Berk.” A small smile flickered across Doyle’s lips. He looked up and wiped the mosture from his face. “Should be snowin’, it bein’ Christmas an’ all.” He burrowed deeper into his coat.

“Ah, a romantic, then?” Bodie ruffled Doyle’s hair, showering them both with the night’s cold wetness. Doyle glared at him.

“What’s the matter, Raymond? Afraid Father Christmas won’t be able to come down your chimney?” Bodie’s eyes glinted mischievously.

They looked at each other. “That’s a medical problem!” they chorused and snickered.

“Whenever you two are ready,” Susan walked up behind them. “Don’t know about you, but I’d like to spend Christmas Eve with my family.” 

“As you wish, Susie, m’dear,” Bodie proclaimed grandly. ”Would you care to take the lead?”

“Wouldn’t dream of depriving you of the honour,” she replied. “After you, boys.”

All traces of humour left as they checked weapons and R/Ts. 

Doyle called into HQ to report their location and to request additional backup. Warily he scanned the buildings surrounding them. Bodie, always attuned to his partner’s moods asked quietly, “Copper’s instinct?”

“Yeah.” Doyle shrugged. “There’s a good many things that go round in the dark beside Santa and his elves.”

 

Bodie and Doyle were the first to enter the car park. Voices carried to them from deeper in the building. A quick nod and a hand signal and they separated, Bodie going to the left, Doyle to the right. 

Doyle climbed up to the second level of the car park. Collins and his crew were visible from his perch on the ascending entry ramp, appearing as shadows moving ominously against the concrete walls. He saw Susan and Anson enter the building and take up positions near the exit to prevent anyone from leaving that way. Murphy and Jax followed them in and moved further into the darkness of the garage. Everyone held for Doyle’s signal.

Startled by the sound of a can rolling across the tarmac below him Doyle froze, watching for Collins to react. He let out the breath he’d been holding when the villain’s activities didn’t alter. He looked back to where he’d heard the noise and rolled his eyes when Bodie looked up at him with a sheepish grin. Bodie moved back into position and waved a hand up at Doyle. Doyle clicked the R/T open and quickly closed – the signal for everyone to move in.

Collins and his men were busy unloading their car, stacking the colourfully wrapped Christmas packages against the far wall of the car park. A popular department store occupied the other side of the wall. 

A car slowly coming down the ramp from an upper level attracted Collins’ attention. As he turned to follow its progress he caught sight of Murphy making his way across the floor. Murphy dove for cover as Collins reached for his weapon.

“Hold it!” Doyle shouted from above them; his voice echoed through the quiet. “Drop your weapons and get down on the ground.”

Collins spun around quickly, spraying bullets from the gun as he took cover behind his vehicle.

“Why do they never ‘hold it’?” Doyle mumbled to himself and ran in a crouch towards where the Land Rover was parked. Collins’ gang scattered, taking cover behind concrete supports and parked cars.

Squealing tires announced the arrival of more of Collin’s gang. The sound bounced off the walls as a car sped up the ramp into the car park. Gunfire erupted from the exit where Susan and Anson were. 

The new arrival’s headlamps swept across parked cars illuminating dark corners and exposing hiding places. Doyle winced as Bodie’s position between a Ford and a Strada was lit up. Eyes blinded by the sudden and unexpected light, Bodie was unable to see Collins creeping up behind him. Doyle had less than seconds to move before Collins put a bullet in his partner. Doyle raised his gun and squeezed the trigger. Nothing. A fucking stoppage. Eyes wide, he watched Collins skulk closer to his partner’s unprotected back. He yelled, “Bodie”, hurled the useless Browning at Collins and threw himself over the ramp’s barrier to the floor below.

Bodie spun around and fired his gun just before Doyle crashed down onto Collins. Both men hit the ground hard. 

“Doyle!” Bodie cried out. He kept his weapon trained on the sprawled bodies. There was no movement from the tangled limbs. He carefully moved in closer and touched Doyle’s shoulder. Doyle groaned and rolled away from Collins, revealing a neat hole in the middle of the villain’s forehead. He pushed himself shakily to his knees.

“You all right?” Bodie asked, brushing debris from Doyle’s hair. 

Doyle nodded. He picked up and cleared his Browning. “Bloody shooter.”

Gunfire again, this time from the front of the car park. They raced off towards the sound of the shots. 

Murphy and Jax had two of Collins’ thugs pinned down behind a van. “You may as well give it up,” Murphy shouted. “You’re not getting out of here.”

“Don’t shoot. I’m coming out.” One of the villains stood up, threw his gun towards Jax and raised his hands over his head. 

Trying to take advantage of the distraction, the other man turned and made a run for the entrance. Bodie took off after him with Doyle not far behind. They carefully exited the the car park onto a dark and empty street.

“Where’d he go?” Doyle knelt down, keeping low in the entrance to the garage. 

“There!” Bodie pointed and was off and running again.

“Bodie!” Doyle called. “Wait for me you, pillock.” He watched both men disappear around the corner of the building and ran to catch up. He slipped on the icy pavement and lost his footing. Rubbing a sore hip, he limped towards where Bodie and the thug had gone. Rounding the corner slowly he saw Bodie held tight in the man’s arms – gun pressed against his throat.

“C’mere where I can see you,” the man shouted.

Doyle stayed hidden.

“I know you’re there.” The man pushed the gun harder into Bodie’s neck, forcing a grunt of pain. “He gets it if you don’t come out now.”

Doyle tucked his gun in the waistband of his pants and closed his jacket over it. He walked into the light.

“All right, mate?” he casually asked Bodie. 

Bodie nodded and looked to his left. “Company could be better.”

Doyle smiled tightly. “Ah, well, hang around in derelict car parks and that’s what you get.”

“Oi.” The man with the gun shifted his position behind Bodie. “We’re not here -”

“Down!” Doyle yelled and Bodie dropped to his left, rolling away from the thug. Doyle pulled the gun from its hiding place and put a bullet neatly into the thug’s shoulder. The man cried out in pain and dropped the weapon from his suddenly numb fingers. Doyle moved in and kicked the gun across the tarmac. Bodie got to his feet as Doyle turned away. “Clean up the mess, yeah?” He threw his handcuffs at Bodie and stalked away.

Bodie secured his captive and headed back into the car park. Susan, Murphy, Jax and Anson had rounded up the rest of Collins’ gang and were loading them into a Black Maria just as Cowley arrived.

“Where’s Doyle?” Bodie handed his prisoner to Susan to secure. She nodded towards a skip sitting by outside the edge of the building. Puzzled, Bodie walked through the thickening snow.

He heard a dry retching sound before he got to the rubbish bin. He heard Doyle cough and let out a low groan as he got to his feet. Hearing his partner’s approach, Doyle kept his back to Bodie. He remarked in an angry, rough voice, “You do take chances, don’t you, Bodie.” 

Bodie grabbed Doyle by the shoulder and spun him around. “And what the fuck did you think you were doing – flying through the air like bloody Superman?” 

Doyle drew in a frigid breath and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, eyes blazing. “You almost bought it, mate. Twice!” A stiff finger stabbed sharply into Bodie’s chest in time with the angry words exploding from Doyle’s mouth. “Hopped the twig, pegged out, popped your clogs, snuffed it, ceased to be...” Doyle’s voice broke, his hand stilled, coming to rest open-palmed against Bodie’s heart. “You were dead, Bodie. Dead.” The last word was barely a whisper.

“Ah, Ray.” Bodie covered the ice cold hand on his chest with one of his own. He raised the other to brush away the moisture clinging to Doyle’s eye lashes. Was only snowflakes, wasn’t it?

“A fine Christmas present that would be, yeah?” Doyle’s voice rose again as he pushed Bodie’s hand away, rejecting the offered comfort. They stood, eyes locked together. Doyle was shaking. He dismissively waved a hand between them. “Fuck it,” he spat and stalked off, walking away quickly, boot heels pounding against the street. 

Bodie followed, matching his partner’s pace.

Reaching the end of the street, Doyle stopped. 

The night was filled with heavy, wet flakes that floated gently through the still darkness and settled softly in Doyle’s hair. He stood in the circle of yellow light under a street lamp. Faint white clouds of exhaled breath circled his face. Bodie approached slowly.

“What do you call people who are afraid of Santa Claus?” Bodie asked. 

Doyle turned to face him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Bodie.” The word held a warning as the hands at his sides curled into fists. 

“Claustrophobic.” Bodie answered his own question, ignoring the belligerent tone directed at him.

Doyle stared at him blankly for a minute longer and then shook his head. “Bodie.” This time the word was laced with affection. He captured Bodie’s face between trembling hands, gently caressing the cheeks he held and found understanding and acceptance in Bodie’s eyes. All the tension and anger and fear melted away. He took a deep breath. “You great clown.” A smile lit his face. “Thank you.”

Bodie winked at him. “Anytime, Grumpy.” Doyle’s retort was halted when the bells from a nearby church started to ring, filling the night with their joyous music. The falling snow thickened and sparkled and softened the harsh glare of the street lamps. Doyle leaned in closer to Bodie, pressed his forehead to Bodie’s and with a quick kiss to the end of a reddened nose, whispered, “Happy Christmas, mate.”

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/merentha13/21454005/100380/100380_original.png)

**Author's Note:**

> A special THANK YOU to the very talented minori_k for the surprise gift of the drawing that perfectly compliments the end of the story! 
> 
> written for the "Discovered on a Silent Night" com on lj


End file.
